


The Renegade Job

by treefrogie84



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Post-Episode: s12e08 LOTUS, past dean winchester/ eliot spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: It's bound to be an awkward meeting, but the only person Cas trusts to locate Dean and Sam is Eliot Spencer. Retrieval is, after all, what Eliot does. If Cas would rather avoid another trip down memory lane with another of Dean's exes, he shouldn't have lost track of him in the aftermath of re-caging Lucifer. So here Cas is, rushing down the highway, hoping he can catch Eliot before he and his team leave Houston, hoping he can convince them to help. Because Dean and Sam have been locked up for four weeks already, and Cas has no more idea where they are now than he did when they first disappeared.Leverage, Inc, might be bad guys, but they're the only good guys Cas has.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, many thanks to [DorkilySoulless](http://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian) and [Grey210](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510) for beta'ing this into submission. Additional thanks to [LizBob](http://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/) for help with British-isms and [Solstice Kitten](http://solsticekitten.tumblr.com/) for general editing. Any remaining weirdness is mine.
> 
> You shouldn't need more knowledge about Leverage than just the very basics that you can gather from any tumblr post or IMDB, but if you have questions, let me know.

Time moves so slowly here. Whoever is running the joint is definitely trained in how to keep prisoners off balance: complete solitude (Dean’s not even seen the guards, let alone Sam or some other friendly face, since they dropped him in this hole); cheap fluorescents flicking on and off at seemingly random intervals; soylent type crap twice a day delivered through a slot in the door. Dean recognizes the effects of the earlier sedatives enough to offset them, but the stimulants were all new. But they’ve changed in the past couple of days. Now, they’re all exotic. He can think, but he can’t bring himself to move from his curl in the corner, can’t be sure that anything is real.

There’s noises, so many noises, and they might at any moment burst through.

His mental count ticks over another hour (or maybe it’s only been thirty minutes or maybe three hours; Did he lose count of his breaths? He doesn’t know anymore.) which turns this into another day. He thinks. He scratches another mark in the wall anyway, looking at the rows and rows of them.

Dean’s prayers all start the same way, like they have since Purgatory. _Hey Cas, you got your ears on?_ He can’t be patient tonight, not when everything is coming at him. They’ve been here for days, weeks.

(He doesn’t think it’s been months, but it’s possible he’s screwed up the count worse than he thought.)

_I’m just checking in. So you know that I’m still alive. Paralytics today, fuck me, I hope I don’t have to fight tonight. I guess I don’t have to fight ever, nothing tangible has come through that door yet. But it’s instinct, ya know? Something in my space, this room is too small for that._

_Look, buddy. I know y’all are searching for us. I hope you are. If y’all’ve  found us and can’t get us out, I guess... I’ve got a… friend… I guess, who specializes in retrieval jobs. Eliot Spencer. He was operating out of Portland last I heard from him, but that was… Jesus. That was during the whole leviathan bullshit, so fuck if that’s where El still is._

Dean pauses. Maybe sending Cas towards Eliot isn’t the best plan. Even if El literally has made a career out of getting shit back where it belongs. There’s a lot of history there that Cas doesn’t have context for, the sort that can go really wrong really quick. But…well, if they know where Dean and Sam are, Cas and Crowley clearly aren’t making much progress on springing them from this joint. Eliot at least knows how this shit works.

_The two of you should get along fine, what with the no guns thing._ Dean’s rambling now and has no idea how to stop. It’s been getting worse the longer he goes without contact. _Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’ve still got an old knife of his in Baby, tucked under the backseat. Maybe you can use it to do a tracking spell or something? He moves around a lot. Just… find him. Me. Us. Bring me and Sam home. I wanna go home. Uh… Amen and shit?_

Dean can’t control the pulse of love that follows, but there’s really no point in trying. Cas knows. They’re really only keeping it quiet around Mom.

Fuck, he hopes Cas is actually getting his prayers and he’s not just… emptying this all out into the void. There’s nothing he can do from in here except wait and hope. Leaning his head back, he starts to count again, in time with his breathing, silently waiting for the lights to flick off. His legs are starting to cramp, but he can’t move, even if he could, there’s nowhere to run.

* * *

Cas checks the time as soon as Dean’s prayer reaches him. He’s been sounding more and more disoriented, adrift in time. There’s nothing Cas can do about it, but he finds himself checking the clock more frequently, keeping a closer watch on how time passes. Dean sounds lucid today (or at least, actually aware that he’s praying), but it’s two in the afternoon, and Dean’s exhausted already. It’s not enough that whoever is holding Dean and Sam is keeping them off balance and out of sync. No, Dean’s also constantly drugged and hallucinating.

Not for the first time, Cas hates that prayer is one way. There’s no way to let Dean know that he’s being heard, that he’s working on it. Frustrated, he tosses a pillow across the library. Why is this happening? Why can’t he find Dean? Nothing should be able to interfere with their bond, nothing. Cas has always been able to use Dean’s prayers and longing to find him. But now… He’s not been able to locate Dean for weeks, since shortly after the debacle with Kelly. There’s no trace of Dean, or Sam, through any method he knows, even location spells failed.

Dean’s suggestion to bring in outside help is a good one. Cas is certain he can find Eliot at least. There’s no reason for him to be magically warded if he’s not a hunter. The swirl of half-forgotten emotions and memories that surround Eliot’s name however… It’s not that Cas feels insecure in his relationship with Dean. He’s just spent the past couple of months riding around with Crowley in the passenger seat, constantly joking about his and Dean’s ‘summer of love.’ The last thing Cas wants is another road trip with another of Dean’s exes fondly reminiscing about their relationship.

Cas sighs and pushes himself away from the library table, still covered in the books Sam had been using last. It doesn’t matter what he wants. Getting Sam and Dean back is more important, even if it means working with his boyfriend’s ex.

It doesn’t take very long to find the knife that Dean suggested, or the appropriate ingredients for a location spell. Even less time to perform it and watch a map wither away to a charred spot around Houston. The burn pattern itself is something he doesn’t see very often, like the spell is in a hurry to pin down a location before the subject moves.

Cas is not filled with confidence, but he climbs into his truck anyway. If he can get to Houston quickly, maybe Eliot won’t have a chance to leave again.

The trip south drags, nearly twelve hours in the car with only a succession of crappy radio stations to keep him company. Cas texts Mary whenever he stops for gas, updating her on his progress, taking his turn on their shared Words with Friends game. Part of him wonders if he should update the other hunters in their lives: Jody, Donna, Garth, but he would rather wait until he has something new to report instead of just… vague hopes. He knows he should tell Claire, she would want to know, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to worry her.

It’s late, far later than he thought it was, when he finally finds a motel on the south side of the city. The desk clerk yawns repeatedly while checking him in.

As soon as he’s in the room, Cas drops onto the bed to contemplate his options. He doesn’t need to sleep, but at nearly four in the morning, there’s nothing he can do around the city for several hours yet. Flipping on the TV, he slumps against the headboard, dully watching a rerun of some version of Law and Order.

He’s spent weeks trying to find Dean. What’s a few more hours if it might actually accomplish something?

* * *

Coming off a con has always taken Hardison a couple of days, particularly since they left Boston. With only the three of them as the base team, there is always too much of an adrenaline and stress crash after for him to relax. This last con had gone perfectly, fucking over a real estate mogul’s for-profit political career, but it’d still gotten a bit dicey there in the end. Even though he has backup on the hacking side (and Moondoor85 is very good at what they do), he still had to work the grift, buttering up a narcissistic bully. It sucked.

Hardison is on his way to bed when some dude rocks up to the front door of the latest iteration of the brewpub and tries the door, despite the early hour. The broad strokes he’s getting from the security cameras scream Fed: cheap suit, boring tie, shoes that need a polish. But there’s something off about him. Years of working with Eliot have taught him how to tell if someone doesn’t fit, and something definitely doesn’t fit with this guy. Hardison has no idea who he is, or what agency he belongs to, but it’s _not_ the FBI.

It’s barely a moment’s thought to start a facial recognition search for the guy while he shoots a text to Eliot and Parker to let them know they’ve got a visitor. The dude can wait out on the street until Hardison has backup, or at least until he has some background. He might be paranoid, but they’ve got too many enemies to take the chance.

Within minutes, he’s got back a name -- James Novak, alias Castiel -- and an impressive list of charges. A few earlier and some later, the bulk of them from about a three month period five years ago. Most sound like a less subtle version of what Leverage, Inc, does, but there’s a few (terrorism, grave desecration) that are just bizarre. Novak’s online presence is minimal, no credit cards… the man is a ghost. An Illinois divorce dating from 2011 due to spousal abandonment. A dead ex-wife found last spring, a daughter in South Dakota. The daughter has an online presence, but very little mention of her father, mostly just selfies with another young woman.

He can’t find anything on this guy to explain why he’s at their front door at nine am.

It takes less than twenty minutes for Eliot to arrive and slide behind Hardison to look at the screens. As soon as he catches a look at the dude, still standing patiently at the door, Eliot drops all pretense of not being worried.

“Crap.”

“Woah, man. Crap what? You know this dude?” Hardison gestures at the two paragraphs he was able to find online, “Because he’s all over the fucking place. I can’t tell if he’s a Fed plant or a terrorist.”

“Neither.” Eliot’s terse response just sends up more red flags. “He’s… it’s complicated. And if he’s at our front door, it’s nothing good.”

“So what level of bad are we talking here? Because Jimmy Novak’s wanted on terrorism charges, and that’s a level of bad we don't get involved with, baby. And _‘it’s complicated_ ’ tells me jack.  Should we be bugging out?”

Eliot shoves a hand through his hair. “Nah. And that’s not Novak. Not anymore anyway.” Eliot rests his hand on Hardison’s shoulder, squeezes for a moment. “Let me take care of this. If he’s here, he’s lookin’ for me anyway. He doesn’t deal in the sort of shit that needs our help.”

“El…”

Eliot shakes his head. “I got it. ”

Hardison watches as Eliot reaches up, flips on his earpiece, and redistributes his hair to hide it, all in one smooth motion. He’s already sliding into his hitter mindspace, the one that walls off his heart and anything soft. Hardison quirks a small smile at him as Eliot turns to leave but lets him go.

He has the earpiece monitor running before Eliot makes it through the door between the office and the kitchen.

A slender hand deposits a bottle of orange soda in front of him while the other holds onto his shoulder. “I checked, he’s alone. There’s something weird about him though.” Parker’s head tilts, looking for something before she shrugs.

“El says he knows the guy, but he was tense when he said it. Something about this ain’t right. Pretty sure he isn’t a normal client.”

Parker nods before wandering back over to the small kitchen area they have for the offices. “If he’s here for just Eliot, it might be someone he knew from before.” She grabs a box of cereal before moving back towards him. “We’re not letting him go alone.”

“Of course not, Mama.”

On screen, Eliot unlocks the door just before Novak raises his hand to knock again. They talk for a moment before Elliot ushers him inside.

* * *

 

Eliot braces himself as he reaches up to unlock the door. People come back from the dead all the time, in both his and Dean’s lines of work.  Boyfriends meeting exes?  Normal.  More normal than most of the crap either of them deal with. Both, at the same time, without Dean as a buffer? This might not be the _most_ awkward conversation he’s ever had, but it’s already looking to be in the top five.

“Castiel, right? Angel of the Lord?”

Castiel winces, “Just Castiel. Or Cas if you prefer.” A split second pause, “The name I was given for you is Eliot Spencer. Is that…”

“That’s what I’m called at home.” Eliot grins and pushes the door open further so Castiel can enter. “Grab a seat in one of the booths while I get some coffee.” He points Cas towards the dining area, calling over his shoulder, “You’re lucky you caught us. We just got back.”

The angel heads for the booth furthest from the door. “I’m aware. I had to hurry to be certain I would catch you.” He pauses for a moment before sliding in on the side that has his own back to the door, leaving the wall side to Eliot. Eliot’s not sure if that means that Cas is confident that no one followed him, or if he thinks that the staff door is more likely to harbor an ambush than the street. Either way, Eliot appreciates the professional courtesy.

In his earpiece, he hears Hardison start to fuss about not being able to find anything without a last name. There’s nothing to do about it- if Cas has any official documents, they won’t be under a name that connects to him.

Eliot slides a cup of coffee towards Cas before sliding into the booth across from him. “How did you find us? It’s been years since I heard from Dean.”

Eliot nods, “Why are you here? Last I heard, you were dead.”

The angel wraps his hands around the coffee mug, rubbing his thumb against the handle. “Dean is missing.”

“And I’m out of the retrieval game. Shouldn’t you be able to just… find him?”

“My normal methods have failed.” Cas pauses, glances unerringly at the tiny camera that Hardison has included in the lamps at every table. “Are you aware we’re being watched?”

Eliot nods reassuringly, “My team.” Hardison’s squawking is becoming harder to tune out, but Parker shushes him.

“Eliot, do I need to come out?” Parker’s voice has taken on the hard edge from when she’s imitating Nate. Whatever Hardison’s managed to find has her on edge, too.

He doesn’t really want them out here, not yet, but even if he doesn’t give the ok, they’ll be out here anyway. Eliot looks at Cas, how human he is. “They want to meet you. You mind company?”

Parker is through the door in seconds, not even giving Cas a chance to respond, standing at the open end of the table and looking furious. Hardison tumbles out a moment later, holding his tablet in one hand and typing with the other.

Cas nods to himself, Eliot isn’t sure why. “Dean needs your help. My normal ways of locating help have proven fruitless. He and Sam both are completely off my map.” He takes a swig of his coffee before wrapping his hands around it again. “That shouldn’t be possible. Not both of them. Sam is unlikely. Dean... Nothing short of my Father should interrupt that bond. And He never bothered before, so I can’t imagine He would now.”

“You’ve got what? Subdermal location beacons on them?” Trust Hardison to go for the technological solution. With any other group of people, he’d be right. “Man, just give me the frequencies. We’ll have your boys back in no time and you can be on your merry serial killing way.”

Eliot winces. That’s what he found. “Alec, it’s not…”

Cas cuts him off. “We’re not serial killers. Between their normal hunts and multiple acts of great sacrifice, Dean and Sam are the reason the world hasn’t ended yet.”

“Their _normal hunts_?  You mean law abiding citizens and shit.”

“Vampires. Rougarou. Werewolves who have lost control. Witches. Demons.”

“Naw, man. None of that exists outside of books and TV.”

Parker tilts her head, like she does when he or Hardison are being particularly obtuse. “Shapeshifters are real. Like that job with Nana’s landlords. Eliot had to get out his special knives for them.”

“Shapeshifters?  Vampires? None of that is real. El, tell her.”

“She’s right, Hardison. Lots more than that, too, but most of it requires a very specific skillset.” He takes a drink of his coffee. “One I don’t have. Not beyond the basics anyway. And yeah, it’s possible to look like psychopaths doing it. Hunting’s rough on a good day.”

Hardison stops typing and just stares at Eliot, “It’s all true?”

Eliot quirks a smile, “Bigfoot’s a hoax.” Cas meets his eyes and smiles too. Dean must have used the same line in front of Cas.

Cas’s face falls as soon as the moment of levity ends. “In any event, there are no location beacons, no frequencies to search. I lost track of them almost as soon as they were taken.”

“Who took him, Cas? Because there's no way in hell Dean would just get kidnapped and not get away for however long it’s been.”

“Four weeks, fourteen hours.” Another drink of coffee, fidgeting again. “I… don’t know how much I should tell you. I should have just…”

“Been riding around in his back pocket?”

“No, I…”

Parker pokes Cas on the shoulder until he slides over further and then joins him on his side of the booth. “Break it down. What were you doing? Who were you hunting? What was the security like? How are you getting new information out?”

Cas breathes out, relaxing as he looks around the table, answering Parker’s questions. It occurs to Eliot that Cas probably knows about his past relationship with Dean and that could explain the reluctance to provide all the information as much as anything else. He listens closely to any information Cas can give them, interpreting occasionally when Cas wanders too far into hunter jargon.

It doesn’t take very long to lay out the information Cas has. Looking over the ‘plan’ that Dean had set up before all this went down, Eliot grimaces. There’s hundreds of holes in it, thousands of ways for it to go wrong and only, maybe, half a dozen ways for it to go right. Chief among the problems: trusting anyone who has been proven hostile to have your back. Cas says that Ketch wasn’t lying, but not lying ain’t the same as telling the truth.

There’s a reason Eliot never started hunting full time, even when he was spending all the time between his jobs wandering around the country with Dean. It wasn’t the work, that scratched all kinds of itches. It that it was too similar to what he was doing for Moreau. He’d walked away from Moreau to wash the blood off his hands, but his time with Dean just added more. Most of the time, it was justified, but by the end he couldn’t tell the difference between the monsters they were hunting and himself.

* * *

 

Dean knows he’s lost count, he has no idea what time it is, what day it is. The food... it’s always been drugged or something, but they must have traded it for something new. This isn’t the fuzziness that comes from downing roofies, or the party drugs he’s tried.

There’s screaming in the distance. Maybe it’s him. He’s pretty sure it’s him. Pretty sure that this is just a quiet moment before Alistair comes back.

He doesn’t think it’s Sam. Or Cas?

No. Cas isn’t here. He got away. Or left him here? Fuck, everything’s so wonky, he can’t…

_Cas, Castiel._ Dean slips into prayer without conscious thought, habit taking over. _I don’t… I miss you. You’re not here and I wish you were. But then you’d be here. At least this time, you’re not choosing spider-gorilla-wolf monsters over me. Did we ever come up with a name for those? You didn’t. You weren’t there then. Benny… he just laughed at me. But Benny’s not here either. I don’t know… I think I’m back in Hell, Cas. You’re not here and Sam’s not here and no one’s here and i’m alone and i don’t know…_

Dean trails off, cringing away from the burning metal walls.

_Cas, baby, you gotta get me out again. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, whatever the reason you’ve not come to get me yet, however I fucked us up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’msorry. Imsorry. ‘Msorry. Sorry, sorry…_

Dean curls up into the corner, trying to protect himself from the things coming after him. He can hear them, it’s only a matter of time before they’re here, burrowing into him.

* * *

 

Cas blinks back to awareness from where he’d drifted off on the couch, Dean’s prayer/longing fading. Automatically, he checks the time, his phone for new text messages from Mary or anyone at all, for any sign that progress has been made.

Hardison had herded them back into their upstairs office as soon as he’d started to do whatever he does with computers. Cas had been able to follow along the first couple of steps- it was very similar to how Dean and Sam searched for cases- but he’d quickly gotten lost in the intricacies of it. Parker is perched on the other end of the couch, picking locks while keeping a wary eye on Cas. Even though she believes the supernatural world exists, she doesn’t trust him.

Cas isn’t sure he would trust him either. Not once Hardison showed him what a simple name search turns up. It’s a miracle he’s not on the most wanted list next to Sam and Dean.

Being in a cell next to them would make this harder, but at the same time, would be more reassuring.

Eliot looks up from where he’s standing at the kitchen counter when Cas wanders over, setting down the kitchen knife he’s sharpening. “Everything alright?”

Cas shakes his head. Nothing is alright. Not if Dean thinks that he’s back in Purgatory or Hell, not if Dean thinks he’s being punished because Cas is angry with him. He lowers his voice, no reason to freak out Hardison even further, “They’re drugging him. Which would be bad enough, but whatever it is, is strong enough to affect me when he prays.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

They stand in silence for a while, Cas watching Eliot sharpen knives and the large displays that Hardison splashes information onto as he works. A satellite photo splashes up and stays up, followed by pages and pages of memos, emails, a few photographs. Hardison stretches and stands up to get some more snacks before wandering back over to his computer. More typing, more photos. It’s evening before he finishes, pushing away from the computer with a sigh.

“Welcome to Site Faurer. The latest in the US Government’s attempts to keep monsters away from the general public.”

“You found them?”

“Pretty sure. I don’t have visual confirmation yet, but near as I can tell, two guys were transferred in four weeks ago under high security, and have been in solitary confinement ever since. No names, but one of them has some interesting codes on his file.” Hardison circles the relevant codes with his laser pointer. “The other has different codes with some overlap, mostly of the ‘don’t touch, he bites’ variety.”

Parker tosses her latest lock into the basket on the floor, pushing herself up. “Wait. We need to do this properly.”

Hardison sighs, rubs his forehead a couple of times. “Yeah. Give me… just, give me a couple minutes. I need a break before we do that.”

In the kitchen, Eliot finishes the knife he was working on before he rolls his sleeves back down. He pours himself a glass of water, and then joins them in the lounge, taking the other end of the couch from Parker. Cas stands back, at a loss, trying to figure out if he should be here for this or if he should go elsewhere.

Parker twists around and looks Cas up and down. “You can sit in Sophie’s chair,” pointing at the armchair sitting next to the wall.

Cas moves over to the uncomfortable chair and tries not to think about the looks on Eliot and Hardison’s faces. He gets that this is somehow more significant than just a place to sit but he doesn’t have enough information on how this group works, how their roles flex and change as circumstances do. Dean had mentioned Eliot in passing a couple of times, but the rest of this team… Dean may not have even known about their presence in his friend’s life.

Parker waits for Cas to get settled before turning back to Hardison. “Ok, Alec. Run it.”

* * *

 

Hardison does his best to ignore the look Parker’s got on her face, the one that screams PLOTTING and/or FREEFALL. There’s no way he’s going to be jumping off buildings this time, not when the entire thing is in a fucking mine. Pushing the thought aside, Hardison quickly reorganizes the windows into something approaching his normal briefing style. This is going to be a rush job, he’s actually amazed that he’s found as much as he has in just a few hours. But then, he’s also still having trouble wrapping his head around what they’re looking at. The thing is… this is insane. This shit doesn’t actually exist, none of it. Corrupt governments, corporations, organizations? Sure. But they’re all _people_. Not monsters.

(That thing, three years back, with Nana’s landlords and their crime family… they weren’t shapeshifters. Just scumbag mafiosos, just like everyone else. No matter what Eliot and Parker say.)

Hardison brings up the Winchester’s records, “Sam and Dean Winchester. They’re bad guys on paper with some interesting signature moves. Credit fraud, mail fraud, B&E, assault… Nothing we haven’t done, we’re just better at it. And then we get into the exotic shit: grave desecration, art theft, mass murder. FBI says they’re Satan-worshipping nutjobs with paramilitary training.” He pauses to allow Eliot and Cas’s grumbling time to die back down. “Eliot and Mr. Novak here say that it’s more complicated than what the paper suggests, which, sure. I’ll believe that. But they went too far last month.”

Hardison pauses to take a swig of water while he switches to an incident report detailing an attack on the president four weeks ago. “I really love that the government has switched to software forms of redaction. Makes this so much easier. Anyway, incident report dating from when the Winchesters went missing, stating POTUS was lured to a seedy motel by one of his staffers. The Winchesters somehow managed to hide from the Secret Service agents who secured the room, and then knocked the president unconscious. Other agents interrupted the attempted kidnapping and captured the Winchesters before securing the president.”

Eliot holds up a finger to pause the lecture, “Cas, I’m gonna assume that Dean didn’t just decide to go after a sitting president for no reason. Demon or ghost?”

Cas already looks frustrated. “Fallen angel. It doesn’t matter. Lucifer’s contained again.”

“Hold the fuck up. _Lucifer_? What the hell?” Hardison’s certain he’s imagining this. This sort of shit just does not happen in reality.

“Quite literally.”

“You didn’t mention any of this earlier, Cas. Didn’t you think that was relevant? I’m not dragging my team, _my family_ , into that bullshit.”

“Because it doesn’t matter! He’s contained, back in the Cage, and going over all this again _isn’t solving the problem_.”

It takes a moment for Hardison to process that. Lucifer wandering around isn’t the problem. Oh, that’s good. Would hate for that to interfere with their plans. “Slow down, man.” He brings up a whole series of papers, documenting the transfer of prisoners from Secret Service to general Homeland Security to NSA to US Military back to Homeland Security before finally being handed over to the FBI. “Whoever has your boys? Wants them buried deep. It looked for a while there like they were gonna get a beach vacation down in Cuba, but someone intervened, so they were sent to some site out in Nevada.”

He falls silent, looking at the satellite image on screen. “This is deep deep black site. Endless black. I’m not sure Congress knows about it. I know it doesn’t have a security level because assigning it one might attract attention.” He swallows. They’ve gone up against some pretty bad people before, but this is a level he didn’t think existed somehow.

As always, Parker and Eliot drag him back to reality before he can wander too far.

Parker’s still got her mastermind face on, twisting the puzzle until she can get the pieces to fit. “Give me options, Hardison. It’s an old mine, start there.”

Eliot cuts him off before he can do more than open his mouth. “The entrances are going to be tightly controlled.” He glances over at where Cas is perched in the armchair. “You got anything that can get us in and out unobserved?”

Cas tilts his head, looking at the image on screen and the schematics of the mine itself next to it. “Hex bags will work on humans. Cameras will be harder.”

“Cameras are my domain.” Hardison looks over at Parker again. “Parker-girl, what you thinkin’?”

She shrugs, eyes still on the map. “A rescue mission calls for something other than a con.” She looks at the screen, back at Eliot. “We’re going to have to break in, do a full prison break.” She grimaces before shrugging. “We’re going to steal some hunters.”

Eliot sighs and grumbles something about damn-fool plans and frontal assault, but doesn’t actually object.

Hardison nods and clears the screen of everything except the schematics. “Y’all work out a battle plan. I’ve got some more work to do.” He pulls on his headphones and flicks on the white noise generator to cover their chatter. What he really wants is some sleep -- he’s over thirty-six hours without at this point -- but this can’t wait, not given what some of those codes mean.

* * *

 

Even with blueprints of the mine, there’s not a whole lot of planning to be done. Parker can twist the puzzle pieces all she wants, but there’s only one true way in and out, with maybe a few ventilation shafts that only Parker can use. It ends up taking longer to work out how the hell they’re going to get there than it does to figure out what they’re going to end up doing.

Including waiting at the airport, they’re traveling for less than half the day. Eliot deals with it as well as he can, but he’s ready for silence by the time they finally arrive at the hotel. The best hotel in town is still shitty: a Best Western that’s not been updated in at least twenty years, ethernet cables strung along the ceiling that Hardison looks at dubiously. It’s clean (ish) and empty except for a couple of newlyweds heading home from their honeymoon. There’ll probably be a few truckers that pull in this evening, but for their purposes? This is as good as it’s going to get.

They all congregate in Cas’s room to finish prepping for the next day. Immediately, Hardison starts working his way into the facility’s cameras and computer systems, settling on the spare bed. After a couple of hours, Eliot drops a sandwich on his lap and goes back to discussing the plan with Parker and Cas.

It’s strange, having a fourth person working with them on the planning stages. They’ve brought other people in since Nate and Sophie left, but only on a temporary basis. Tara or Quinn when they need another face, Mikel when they know they’re going to need a full time hitter if Eliot’s already doubled up. This is the first time that they’ve brought someone in at the very beginning and Cas is slotting in just fine.

If they’re going to be handling this sort of client, maybe they should look into getting a fourth permanent person for the team. Cas would be ideal, but Eliot knows the futility of prying Dean’s hands away from something he deems his. Maybe, once this is all done and Dean’s back to rights, he’ll have some suggestions. Cas can’t be the only angel who told Heaven to fuck off.

It’s late by the time Hardison announces his success and Eliot immediately sends him and Parker next door to bed. Sending Parker with him is probably the only way to keep them in bed instead of over here, poking at arcane herbs and shit.

Eliot would rather be there, wrapped around them, than staring at Dean fucking Winchester’s boyfriend from across a well-beaten table and making hex bags. He doesn’t resent the sudden re-entrance of the supernatural into his life, but this? This is not how he thought he’d meet Dean’s newest flame. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure Dean would ever break free of his dad enough to be comfortable with his sexuality. (That was an old and personal fight, one Eliot fought himself, but not one that he would accept being part of.)

For all that Cas doesn’t need hex bags, he’s plenty practiced at making them, far more than Eliot is. It doesn’t take very long to make them either even though they’re complicated: concealment from a full range of creatures, including angels and demons. They’ll still show up on camera, even Cas doesn’t know a spell that can cover those, but with Hardison taking control of the cameras, it shouldn’t be too much of a risk.

They work in silence for a long time before Eliot looks up from his pile of ingredients. “How’s he actually doing?”

Cas looks utterly destroyed before focusing back on the hex bag in his hands. “Terrified. He lost track of anything approaching accurate time about a week ago.”

Eliot winces. “We’ll get him back, Cas. Both of them.”

Cas ties off the bag before looking up. “One way or another. I dragged him out of Hell before, I’ll do it again.”

“The way Dean told it,” Eliot says, remembering Dean drunk off his ass and stoned, paranoid that every noise was hellhounds, “it was a near thing the first time. And that’s when you were fresh off of Heaven’s presses.”

Cas shudders but nods. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Crowley doesn’t want Dean in Hell anymore than we do, but the other claimants to Hell’s throne? I don’t have the strength to stand against all of them.”

Eliot nods, packing away the extra ingredients and supplies. “I haven’t failed yet, not with this crew.” He glances next door, trying not to worry about taking his partners, wishing they would stay out of this. It’s a retrieval job, pure and simple. But they’d argued their way into coming along, as back up, as tech support, as the people he works with seamlessly, before he could even fully articulate why he wanted them to stay out of this.

Cas follows his gaze and, for a brief second, his face softens. “You should go next door. They’ll sleep better if you’re there.”

“What about you?”

“Angels don’t sleep.”

“You’ve been human enough over the past couple of days.”

Cas’s face falls. “This is a much nicer hotel than we normally stay at. A TV screen without static will be a novelty.”

Eliot nods and slips out the door. Bypassing his door, he heads down the stairs and steps outside. It’s well below freezing, but nothing he can’t deal with for a few minutes at least. Long enough to clear his head. It’s borderline too warm in the hotel, and his head is fuzzy with too much warmth and focusing too long on a fiddly project.

He wants to check out the other cars in the lot anyway. This is a small town, a little over seven thousand people, compared to most of the places they end up. The mines and military bases are the only real employers, so if someone gets it into their heads to check them out, there could be trouble. The trucks and sedans in the parking lot on their end of the building match what he expects for this time of year.

Then he rounds the corner to the opposite end of the building and it becomes obvious they have a problem. Three shiny black SUVs and a Norton motorcycle are pulled up next to the exterior door on the other end of the hotel, crookedly backed into the spots. Eliot doesn’t see anyone waiting around, but that doesn’t mean they’re not in the cars themselves, hiding behind heavily tinted windows.

Fuck.

Ducking back, he decides that it doesn’t matter if they’ve seen him. He’d already known they were in a race, that the Men of Letters would be coming after the boys at some point as well. He and Cas had just hoped that they would have been and gone before the Brits showed up.

The US government doesn’t share. Not when it comes to shit like this. If the Men of Letters are here, it’s because they’ve followed the trail as well, or maybe Cas. So now they have two groups to outwit.

Eliot heads back inside. If he can stop these guys from following them tomorrow, the fewer problems they’ll have getting out.

(He keeps himself from worrying about how he’ll protect Alec and Parker in the future. They’ll have to change, but hex bags, charms, and sigils aren’t the worst change they’ve made for each other. Change is what they do. For each other. Together.)

* * *

 

Dean opens his eyes to find himself curled around Cas. It’s still dark, early enough there’s no hint of the sun. Smiling softly, he slides his hand under Cas’s shirt, seeking warm skin to ease himself back to sleep. His nightmares over the last several days…

Cas is cold. Death cold.

Dean’s eyes spring back open. _No._ He levers himself up, flailing wildly for the lamp. Where’s the fucking lamp, why is it so fucking dark in here? It’s never… His hand connects with the lamp and he flips it on without a thought.

If he doesn’t pay attention to the details, Cas is sleeping, flat on his back with an arm under Dean’s pillow. Lines of bruising circle his throat could be hickies.

His mind flashes back to his nightmare, struggling with Azazel/ Lucifer/ Alastair before he could overpower him and snap his neck. Except the face that faced him when he actually did it was Cas.

He hadn’t cared that the demon was wearing Cas’s face. Why would he? Lucifer did for nearly four months.

But now…

His arm stings when he cautiously reaches over to fix the lines of Cas’s neck. There’s scratches down the length of it, dried blood already flaking off as he moves. The change of angle throws the marks on Cas’ throat into sharp relief, bruises against tan skin.

Dean’s been able to read a crime scene since before he was a teenager. He knows what he’s looking at.

He did this. Without waking up, without thinking, without hesitation. He did this. He reached out, pinned his boyfriend to the bed, and killed him. Cas barely had a chance to fight back.

A few desperate scratches down Dean’s arm is nothing, not compared to what he did.

He killed him. The best part of his entire fucking life, and Dean killed him. Because that’s what Dean does, all he’s good for. His entire life has been shaped for this, to be a soldier, a weapon, a naked blade with no sheath, good for only killing and following orders.

_Christ, Cas._ Dean gathers Cas’s body into his arms, gentle now that it’s too late, pulls him on top of himself so Cas can use Dean’s chest as a pillow. _We talked about this, how I wasn’t safe, you couldn’t trust me not to kill you in your sleep. I’m a weapon and a monster. I’ve never been anything else._

He looks around the bare concrete room. It’s wrong somehow. They’re not in his room at the bunker. Not that it matters, really.

_I’m ownerless now. Useless without you._

_If I had anything to summon her, I’d call Billie down. I’ll just wait, instead. Do you think she’ll let me see you before tossing me into the empty? Just to make sure you’re ok? I hope you get a nice Heaven, Sunshine. Next to Anna and Bobby, with bees and guinea pigs. Is there any point in saying sorry anymore?_

He’s fucked up so many things in his life. But this is going to be the last one. He’ll never get out of this bed again. If he stays here, he can’t fuck up anything else. By the time anyone finds them, he’ll be dead too, from dehydration, or maybe he’ll grab the knife in the bedside table when he’s tired of waiting. Either way, the problem will be solved for the rest of the world.

* * *

 

Cas shakes his head, pushing Dean’s nightmare to the side where he doesn’t have to think about it. Doesn’t have to think about how grief-stricken Dean is. Instead, he focuses on the effect on their bond. Somehow, before tomorrow, he has to figure out what is causing Dean to react like this. Especially since Sam’s not showing any of the same symptoms, at least, not as far as Cas can tell.

Sam rarely prays to him. Frequently enough that Cas knows he’s not dead, but no more. No rambling retellings of his day, or demands for attention, or anything else. Simple prayers, a text message to Dean’s phone call. _I’m alive, don’t forget me._ As if Cas could. There’s leakage, there always is. Tendrils of old fears given form by the drugs, but overlaid with scars, things Sam knows to be true beyond a doubt.

Wraith or Djinn venom maybe, mixed with a second hallucinogen? Cas isn’t sure, the uses and misuses of chemistry isn’t something he’s ever had much of an interest in, outside of making sure he knew what drugs Dean could layer when he was hurt. It’s a start though, and something that will clear out of Dean’s system quickly when they rescue him.

Cas understands that this team is very good at what they do, but this _isn’t_ what they do. They con corporations and businesses, they don’t break into heavily secured government facilities and rescue people. They’ve spent their entire careers avoiding doing exactly this. They put people _in_ prison.

Eliot’s quiet knock on the door is a welcome distraction. He slips through the door before Cas can stand from his spot at the desk. Tossing a hex bag from hand to hand, he looks Cas up and down before nodding. “Some of those Men of Letters fuckers are at the other end of the hotel. You up for taking some of them down?”

Cas is on his feet in an instant, pulling his coat on like it’s armor. “Let’s go.” He shakes his sleeve to make sure his blade can fall into his hand without interference. He’s unlikely to need it, as Eliot made his opinions on weapons and killing very clear, but he feels better if it’s there. A part of himself that he’s never been parted from.

Following a few steps behind, Eliot hisses at him to stop, to wait a moment so they can plan this, but Cas doesn’t have patience for waiting, not anymore. Not when there is finally something he can do.

In the end, he doesn’t even have to search the rooms. Mick Davies and Toni Bevell are arguing at the other end of the hotel and down a floor, loudly. Other agents are gathered at their door, blatantly eavesdropping on their quarrelling superiors, ignoring their surroundings.

There’s only five of them in the hall, not nearly enough to cause him to pause. They’re not even paying attention to him as he hurries down the hall, intent on dealing destruction to anyone he can reach.

Eliot dashes to catch up, swinging Cas into the doorway next to where all the arguing is happening and backing him into the door. In a flash, Eliot is kissing him, hissing “Kiss me or we’ll both die.”

It takes a moment for the words to penetrate Cas’s rage and for him to stop fighting. He wraps a hand around Eliot’s hip and shoves the other one into his hair. Even if Cas is stiff, unpracticed with anyone not Dean, it’s apparently convincing enough that the only agent who noticed them turns back around. Eliot’s shoving a key of some sort into the door and they’re falling through, out of the view.

It’s a shock, Eliot pushing him away as soon as the door closes behind them, shielding them from view. “What the hell, Cas? You nearly got yourself killed. Both of us killed.”

The control that Cas has been holding onto for the past four weeks shatters as he whirls on Eliot. “Do _not_ , Eliot Spencer, think you can prevent me from seeking my mate or wreaking vengeance on those who took him from me. Not while yours are safe in a room upstairs, waiting for you to return.” He has enough sense to whisper, to keep their volume below that of the bellowing couple next door, but it’s a near thing.

“I get it, Cas. And we’ll get them back. But…”

The fight next door changes pitch, no longer just tone and the occasional word passing through, but the entire thing.

“I captured one of them! I was making progress and then you let him go! Do _not_ blame me for the fact that your vaunted connections failed to bring the Winchesters to heel and have failed to accomplish any of our goals.”

“Come off of it, Toni. The Elders were done with your ‘experiment’ the moment you got Ms. Watt killed for her trouble. You were accomplishing nothing, except maybe excising some ghosts from your past. My connections-”

“Your connections, Mr. Davies, are meaningless.” A third voice drawls, lower than the others, quieter. “As was your experiment, Ms. Bevell. The Elders have passed me my orders, directly, superseding either of yours. The government is going to transfer the Winchesters back to normal federal custody tomorrow and this entire embarrassing mess will be resolved permanently.”

Cas meets Eliot’s eyes in the low light, panic rising and replacing the rage. One way or the other, the Winchesters will not survive being transferred. Not between the Men of Letters and the government. They need to go, now. Fuck the plan, fuck intricate wheels that need to be set in motion before they get Dean and Sam out. There’s no time.

The only saving grace is that the government and Men of Letters don’t seem to be working together.

Cas drags Eliot over to the window, sliding it open and pushing him out. They’re on the ground floor now, no chance of Eliot getting hurt. Out the window and back over to the lobby, then upstairs to wake up Hardison and Parker.

There’s no time. No time. Cas would give nearly anything for his wings to be intact. He could fly to Dean, to Sam, and fly them out. No clumsy burglary, time constraints, even if cameras see him, they can't track him back to where he goes… 

But his wings are shredded, beyond healing. They’ll never fly him anywhere again, not even if it’s to save Dean.

* * *

 

When Eliot comes bursting into their shared room, Hardison has gotten maybe four hours of sleep. He’s awake in an instant; too many years of sharing a bed with Parker and Eliot have taught him the value of waking immediately, even if he would rather take his time (and much, much later).

There’s a gentle slap at his foot where it’s stretched out from under the covers, “Alec, Parker, we gotta move, now.” A pause, then softer, “I know you guys just went to bed. I’m sorry.”

Parker uncurls from beside him, pushing herself out of the bed and towards the bathroom. In forty-five seconds, she’ll be fully awake. Five minutes and she’ll be ready to move out. “What’s the situation?” She’s already started working up additional plans, rotating pieces again.

Hardison extracts a hand from where he’s wrapped in the blankets, throwing Eliot a thumbs up before pushing himself up. He watches Eliot move around the room a couple of times before visibly forcing himself to stop. Then he pulls a different shirt out of his bag and starts changing. His voice is slightly muffled by the cloth, but still understandable. “The… competitors are staying at the other end of the hotel. They’re moving Sam and Dean back to official federal custody tomorrow.” He glances at the clock on the bedside table, “Today. We need to get them out of there.”

Belatedly, Hardison realizes he needs to start getting dressed too. “It’ll be easier to spring them from federal custody.” He motions Eliot towards the bathroom so he can shower before they head out. “We’re good, but I’m not sure even we can pull this off if we start early.”

Parker, always pragmatic shakes her head. “They’ve been moved too many times as it is. If we don’t get them out tonight, we’ll lose them.”

“Hold up, Mama. I never lose anyone I set my eyes on finding.” Hardison turns the shower off and accepts the towel Eliot shoves through the opening in the shower curtain. “I found them once, I can find them again, especially if they’re no longer in a black site.”

“The way the competition calls it, they won’t be making it back to regular custody.” Eliot hauls him over for a brief kiss, “Legally, they’ve both been dead for years. No one’s going to make a fuss if they disappear. I’m sure that’s how they’ve hidden ‘em for this long.”

Parker finishes dropping his laptop into a bag, snagging one of Alec’s OS flash drives to stick in her pocket. She’ll be able to get him access to any computer that’s stuck into. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going now. We knew this was a possibility.” She briefly grabs and squeezes both their hands before slipping out the door, probably to delay the assholes at the other end of the hotel. It’ll be a lot harder for them to follow if none of their cars will start.

“I know you’re unsettled about this one, Hardison.” Eliot looks worried. “I’ll tell you… everything… if you want. After they’re safe. After we’re all out of this, alive.”

Hardison grumbles as he pulls on his shoes, “Seems like there’s a lot more here than what you’re telling us about monsters in the dark.” Eliot winces, but doesn’t say anything, just shoves one of those hex bag things into Hardison’s pocket.

It’s nearly an hour from town up to the old mine, longer to work their way down the ravines in their jeep to reach the fence. Getting through the fence takes next to no time: Hardison creates a bridge in the security wire, then it’s just a matter of cutting through at an inconspicuous place and marking it. As soon as they’re inside the fence, Eliot and Cas peel off towards the entrance of the prison while Hardison and Parker head towards the control center.

The more Hardison dug into the records, the more it became obvious that the only way this place is viable as a prison is by being almost entirely automated. There’s next to no guards on site, only about fifteen people on duty at any given time. They’ve closed off three of the four old entrances, blocking off the elevator shafts by piling tons of rock and debris on top of them. If worst comes to worst, Parker might be able to get down into the mine using the ventilation tunnels, but Hardison doesn’t want to risk it if they don’t have to.

Far better to simply take over the entire facility with the aid of a few flash drives. Eliot and Cas will still have to deal with anyone they come across, but it’s a lot easier than just waiting for the bad guys to just show up.

Parker doesn’t wait for him to catch up once she reaches the control building. Pausing a moment to judge her best way in, she slides up to the door through a blind spot in the cameras’ arcs and then, in less than a minute, she’s inside. As soon as she waves the okay, Hardison dashes to the building, meeting Parker at the front door.

He ducks into the first office he sees while Parker continues to check out the rest of the building. In moments, he has access to the entire system, switching camera settings to repeat the last hour’s worth of data, searching out and copying anything that might prove useful tonight or down the road. Hardison’s still not convinced that werewolves exist, or any of the rest of it, but something about the place is fishy.

Parker appears at his elbow just as he starts to find the really interesting stuff (including a list of classification codes that are, wow, totally insane).

“There were three guards in the other side of the building. I knocked them out and tied them up, but you should know.” She leans over to kiss him, snatching the other bag he was carrying from the floor. “I’m going to get the repeaters set up.”

Hardison nods, already paying more attention to the computer in front of him than Parker. “Remember your charm or hex bag or whatever. It’s bullshit, but I ain’t gonna be the one who explains to Eliot why you don’t have it.”

She scoffs before ducking out of the room. Hardison focuses back onto the live feed from the cameras, watching for Eliot and Cas or any guards that aren’t accounted for. The security level for this place is completely screwy, way more lax than it should be, but that’s working in their favor for a change.

* * *

 

Eliot keeps his earbud in, even once the signal dissolves into static. He feels better with it in, more secure, particularly since Hardison and Parker are supposed to figure out a way to either piggyback a different signal or get repeaters down here. He might also be able to use Cas as an antenna, something about his grace transmitting all frequencies. Eliot didn’t follow the explanation, he doesn’t trust it. Hardison’s tech is unlikely to go wrong. Angel grace? Who knows.

Eliot gets why Cas worries when Dean drops out of touch. He, Hardison, and Parker have spent so much time with each other’s voices in their ears that it’s weird on the days they’re all doing their own thing without earbuds. It’s easier to not worry when you’re all living in each other’s heads.

But there’s no time to contemplate the complications of human-angel relationships.

It’s infuriating: they’re in a straight corridor, well lit and with no alcoves for anyone to hide in. Then they take a single step, side by side, and there’s a huge guy aiming his fist at Eliot’s head. There’s just enough time for Eliot to duck the attack, avoiding the hit.

He pops his elbow into the goon’s neck, twists around to push him head first into the rock wall. Fucking magic.

There’s only two goons, and Cas has the other one down before Eliot can take more than a couple of breaths. Cas reaches over to the guy Eliot just ran into the wall, pressing his fingers against his forehead. There’s a brief flash of light, and then the guy slumps even further over.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Cas frowns, “I put them to sleep. But we should be more careful.”

“No shit. You couldn’t see them either?” Eliot huffs, but it does make him feel better if the guards were hidden from everyone, not just normal humans.

“No. Someone must have created some sort of glamor to hide the guards.” Cas pauses, looks around the unchanged hallway, “I should have been able to tell that someone was there, even if I couldn’t see them. This is… new.”

Eliot grunts, but doesn’t say anything else. What else is there to say? It doesn’t matter. Cas is who’s here and Cas is what he’s got. He steps closer to Cas, intending to push Cas into leading the way when for a brief moment, his earbud clears.

“Eliot! I found them.”

“Hardison?” Cas takes a step away, tilting his head and staring at Eliot. Because he’s the crazy one here or something. The static returns as soon as Cas is more than a foot away. Damnit. Stepping closer again, Eliot grabs ahold of Cas’s sleeve so he can’t move. “Alec, repeat what you just said.”

“What, was I not clear enough for you? You need smaller words?”

Eliot growls, used to how pissy Hardison gets when he’s been stashed somewhere and doesn't feel like his genius is being appreciated. He waits for Hardison to come back around to whatever information he found for them.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Mr. Punchy. Dean’s in TK-421 and Sam is in TK-411.” Hardison pauses, clicking his jaw. “Right. Third level down, fifth corridor.” There’s another pause, longer this time, “Eliot, dude. Hold still for a moment, will you? Jesus.” Another pause. “Ok, I’ve scattered the other guards, hopefully, and locked down the elevator. Parker’s already in, dropping signal boosters. She must be ahead of you somehow.”

Eliot looks over at Cas, “Yeah… Haven’t seen her.” Cas starts to wander down the hall again, the signal starting to break up again. “Damnit, Cas, get back here. I think I’m piggybacking off of some angel thing?”

“That explains why I’m having trouble pinpointing your location. Whatever. You’ve got a staircase down to the next level ahead of you, I’m pretty sure. Keep an eye out, but you should be clear of guards.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

Eliot starts moving down the corridor. There’s no point in running, not when even a visibly clear path means nothing. After a moment, Cas starts after him. He stays close, shaking his knife into his hand, moving cautiously down the corridor.

They make it to the end, to the stairs and down to the next level without any further interference. Aside from those two goons, there’s no one here, or at least no one visible. The staircase itself is lit only with emergency lighting, and it’s steep.

Eliot winces at the thought of having to drag Sam or Dean up these stairs while they’re unconscious.

He and Cas have fallen into the sort of tense silence that always happens when waiting for an ambush around any corner. There’s no reason for it, whatever is happening here can clearly cover multiple senses at once, but any little bit helps. No point in giving everyone in the complex advanced notice that they’re coming. By the time they’re partially down the stairway, even his earbud has fallen silent, victim of the tons of rocks between them and Hardison. Eliot’s still getting short bursts of static whenever Cas comes close enough, but nothing like words. Other than that though, the halls are silent except for their footsteps. Unnerving.

And then, Cas pushes open the door to the next level, and Eliot can hear his team again. Somehow Parker got down here before them and started setting up the repeaters. Eliot breathes out, it’s easier with Alec and Parker in his ear. Easier to remember that this is a rescue mission, not accompanying someone to die.

He whispers “Alec, Parks, I’m back online.” He can hear Parker’s displeased noise when he shortens her name, but she’ll deal. If nothing else…

There’s a flash of bluish light ahead down the corridor, nearly drowned out by the safety lights that trail along the floor. Cas lets out a pained grunt beside him as a few words of Latin echo down the hall.

There’s enough light see see Cas’s eyes widen and he pushes Eliot away as bright white light starts streaming from him.

“Shit!”

The light coming from Cas does little to illuminate the hallway, but between it and the emergency lights, there’s enough to see the figure holding something down further down the hall, near where the other staircase is. Eliot takes off running after them.

Tackling the guard sends the golden football or whatever it is flying, past the stairwell and into the depths of the hallway beyond. Eliot punches the guy in the temple, knocking him out cold.

Cas is still moving behind him, pained noises. He sounds... human, in pain and confused.

Eliot’s talked enough with Dean to know that this isn’t the first time that Cas has been suddenly powered down, but there’s no time for an adjustment now. This has to be one of those occasions where Cas picks himself up and starts fighting.

“Eliot, what’s happening down there? The cameras are all fried, I can’t see jack.” Hardison’s voice cuts through the adrenaline rush that comes with tackling a guy into a rock floor.

“I’m good.” He swallows, looks up the hall towards where Cas is upright and bracing himself against the wall, and lowers his voice. “We’re good. But they had something that knocked all the fight out of Cas.”

Parker’s voice sounds hollow, where ever she’s holed up, “I’m almost done rigging repeaters. You need backup?”

Eliot looks at Cas and then at the goon at his feet. “You in a place to reach the boys? We’re going to need another pair of hands to both of them out if they’re not moving under their own power.” He gets matching affirmative answers from both of them before he moves back towards Cas.

“Cas, you good?”

Cas blinks at him a couple of times before his face stiffens. “Sam and Dean.” Drawing himself up, he closes his eyes again in a long blink, before pushing past Eliot towards the stairway to the next level.

“Parker’s already on their level. We got a moment if you need to take a breather. What the fuck was that thing?”

Cas snarls, “Hyperbolic pulse generator.  One of the Men of Letters’ inventions.”

Eliot nods, taking his time to reach the staircase. “Explains why it looks like one of Hardison’s Harry Potter toys.” He flashes Cas a grin while Hardison squawks in his ear.

* * *

 

Dean stays curled up on his bed, the room spinning around him.

He has no idea what he drank or took, but Cas’s body is no longer in the room and he doesn’t remember moving it. He doesn’t remember finding whatever he took either, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, not with Cas dead and Sam… wherever Sam is.

Where _is_ Sam? This isn’t…

Dean uncurls and pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing as light cuts into him. There’s… Something’s wrong. Where’s Sam? Did he hurt him too?

Rows of tally marks greet him as he looks across the small room. Dozens of them, chipped into cheap plaster.

He’s back in Hell, because Cas got fed up with his shit and threw him back. He’s back in Purgatory because he never got out, because Benny said fuck it and walked away (walked away like everyone always does). He’s...maybe he’s in the Empty. Maybe Billie did him one last mercy and left him here after he killed Cas, because he’ll never be safe, can never be trusted to not turn into a monster at the drop of a fucking hat.

It takes him a while to realize that what he’s seeing might be real. It’s like driving up out of a valley through swathes of thick fog that cover the road and everything around  it, turning the world a uniform grey. Days of counting breaths for as long as he could, keeping track as breaths passed into minutes into hours into days and then… more nightmares, or hallucinations, whatever.

But now, on the other side of that valley, climbing out, he can pick through, see which memories are out of focus, like he was high when he formed them. He needs to get out of here, find Sam and Cas, get some place safe to ride this come down.

Dean blinks rapidly, hoping that will get the spinning to stop. It doesn’t, but it slows down, narrows it to just one axis. Close enough.

He just needs to get the fuck out of this room. He pushes himself to his feet, unsteadily takes the three steps from the bed to the door. There’s light streaming in through the slot where they pushed his food, so there’s something on the other side. He just needs to get there.

Dean hasn’t seen a real person since he was dumped into this hole, but if the door opened for him to be tossed in, it opens to get out. He just has to get it open. Running his hands along the edges, he contemplates his options. There’s not many: whoever designed this place had lots of money to play with.

Another wave of dizziness and nausea pushes him to his knees in front of the door, leaning against it while he tries to avoid puking on himself. Fuck. Whatever in the fuck he was drugged with has completely screwed up his entire body.

_Hey, Cas. You got your ears on? You’ve got to, right?  Because I didn’t...I don’t think I killed you. I’m pretty sure that was a nightmare. Look, I’m gonna try to get out of here. I can’t wait any longer. If I see any signs about where I am, I’ll let you know. But I gotta try, gotta get Sammy and me out of here. C’mon sunshine, meet me halfway._

A slow blink against the spins before he levers himself to his feet, eyeing the light fixture on the other side of the room. He’d come up with this as a possibility the first day. There’s almost no chance this will work, and it’s going to hurt like hell, but he can’t… He can’t wait anymore. Not with his brain trying to convince him that Cas is dead. He waited as long as he can, trying to wait for a better option. It’s not coming, clearly. If Cas has heard his prayers, then maybe he’ll be waiting. If not, well, it’s not the first time Dean’s had to figure out how to get home.

He has no idea if the wires inside will be long enough (he just needs six feet, that’s it. A measly six feet, he can bridge the rest of the gap himself, with his own body if need be, just a chance, that’s all he’s asking. For a fucking chance…)

Dean cuts his hand on the grate covering the light bulb, prying it off. It’s metal, so even if he doesn’t have enough wire, he can make it work. Carefully pulling the bulb out is another chore, another chance of electrocuting himself. No big deal, he’s done it before. Wires pulled out and he has enough length to reach the door.

Now he just has to remember what Eliot told him over a decade ago, while working in the dark. It’d been a thought exercise, never actually intended to be put in practice, but it’s as good of a guideline as he’s going to get. He needs to get the ends of the wires into the locking mechanism. It’ll work better if he can cycle the power, but--

The door buzzes and unlocks before he can even contemplate how to get the wires wedged into place.

Groping blindly in the dark for the florescent bulb, he hoists it like a baseball bat, aiming for head height. It’s not heavy enough to do much damage, but hopefully it’ll be a enough of a distraction for him to slip out in the confusion.

The door slides open, bright light from the corridor flooding into the room. Dean narrows his eyes against the light, so much brighter than what he’s been dealing with, trying to keep an eye on the doorway. There’s no one at the entrance, just some shuffling off to one side.

The voice that floats through the doorway though is nothing like the military fuckers who dragged him in here, or the Men of Letters who screwed them over. “Hardison, check to see if there’s anyone else here. There’s only the two occupied cells on this level.” A blonde head pokes into his cell. “You _are_ Dean, right? Alec said that this was you.”

Dean gapes at her for a split second before dropping his makeshift bat. “Yeah, I’m Dean.” Even if this is just another trap, he has a better chance out here than he does in his cell.

“Great.” She shoves a hex bag at him. “Alec, I’ve got Dean.” A pause and then, rolling her eyes, “They’re still on the floor above me.” She motions Dean down the corridor in front of her. “Sam’s up next. Dean was closer to the shaft I was using.”

Dean eyes her, checking for weapons. He doesn’t see any immediately but then a small black cylinder on her shoulder catches his eye. Taser then, no guns. He can handle a taser.

He starts down the hallway, listening to her half-muttered conversation behind him, neck prickling at having an unknown at his back. She, whoever she is, has to have a radio on or something. Maybe she’s a telepath, but somehow, he doesn’t think one of those would enter a prison designed to make people disappear. Dean’s met weirder psychics though, so maybe she would.

A crash echoes down the hallway from in front of them, quickly followed by the clang of metal on rock. Dean abandons caution, rushing past the other cells until he comes to the doorway the noise is coming from. This one leads to a staircase, not a branch off the main corridor. A familiar groan filters down the stairs and Dean rushes up them without stopping to think about it.

He doesn’t care, at this point, if Cas has been captured or if it’s a recording. He needs to get out of here, needs to find Cas, needs to reassure himself that it really was just a drug induced nightmare hallucination _thing_. Sam… he needs to get Sam out, too. But he knows where Cas is, and it sounds like whatsherface is going after Sam. Dean just needs to get up these stairs and then he’ll be a quarter of the way home.

The girl darts past the entrance without pausing. Dean thinks he hears a mumble of some sort, but he can’t make it out. Not over the clanging of his shoes on the stairs and the blood in his ears. The adrenaline seems to have burned the last of the drug out of his system, thankfully.

He doesn’t see the fist coming when he leaps out through the doorway.

* * *

 

Cas looks over at the stairway in alarm as hurried footsteps echo up it. He needs just another minute to adjust to the sudden loss of his grace, before he can back Eliot up in a fight.

Getting blasted with the device is even more disorienting than having Metatron cut his throat to capture his grace. It’s nothing like the various banishments that they’ve used for years now. Instead, he has power and then he doesn’t. Getting hit by a freight train might hurt less; certainly speeding to Earth as a comet did. He’s still in his body at least, just powerless.

There’s no time to absorb the change, to adjust. Shoes pounding up a staircase, rushing towards them, stumbling midway before continuing on. Cas pulls himself fully upright, stiffens his spine in a vain attempt to look imposing.

Eliot reaches the doorway first, buying Cas time to get his legs under him before another fight starts.

Cas has less than a split second to identify brown hair, longer than normal, tired eyes in a too-thin face before Eliot plows his fist into Dean’s jaw.

Dean comes back up fighting, throwing body punches with one hand, holding on the railing on the other. “Get the fuck outta my way!”

Cas pushes himself forward, trying to get between the two of them. He’s not sure either of them have realized who they’re punching, but…

“Dean? What the fuck, man!”

“Wha… El? _Cas?_ ”

Cas breaths out, relaxing slightly. Eliot grabs Dean’s shoulder, easing him off the landing and into the corner of the hallway before he falls backwards. Cas rushes forward when Dean wavers.

“Your boyfriend showed up on my doorstep, hoping for help.” Eliot smirks, “I told you I wasn’t gettin’ involved in all this, but apparently you had to go and get yourself kidnapped.”

Cas slides an arm around Dean’s waist, taking his weight from Eliot. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean blinks a couple of times, a smile spreading across his face. “Can we get out of here? This trip sucks balls.”

Cas huffs out a laugh, grin spilling across his face. Dean is here, and safe and whole. The rest they can deal with later. Right now, they just need to get Sam and themselves out and home where they can all recover.

He meets Eliot’s eyes when the hitter pauses, listening on his little earbud thing. Cas can’t sense the frequencies without his grace, could never decipher the encryption, but all three of them have tells. He hadn’t thought about needing one himself, so he can’t listen or even participate in the discussions.

“Parker, you got him?” another pause, more agitated. “Hardison, get it done… You heard the lady… You see anyone on camera? Parker, you?” A longer pause, “Just because… Hardison, get the exit ready.”

It’s overwhelming to watch Eliot sorting through information. Cas has seen enough over the past several days to know that while the team works as one, each with their own specialties, any of them can cover for the others, but this… this is a work of art. Or would be, if Eliot was in less of a hurry.

“You brought your whole team? I thought y’all didn’t do this sort of thing.”

Eliot levels a glare at Dean before starting down the stairs, “We don’t. They didn’t want to risk me going in by myself.” His voice trails floats up to them, “Go find the elevator while we get your moose of a brother up here.”

“Parker and Hardison have been very helpful. I don’t…” Cas trails off. He doesn’t know if he would have even found this place without them. “The wards here are very strong.”

Dean nods before starting forward. He’s moving better than Cas himself right now, who makes it five steps before stumbling.

Dean’s arm is back around him in an instant, supporting him until Cas gets his footing back. “You wanna tell me what’s up with you?”

Fuck. He didn’t… He wanted to delay discussing his sudden return to humanity at least until they got someplace safe. It’s not that he thinks Dean will exile him again. He just didn’t want to be another thing for Dean to worry about.

“Apparently the Men of Letters aren’t the only ones adapting magic with technology.” They reach the guy who’d sucked away his Grace, still passed out on the floor, and Cas can’t keep himself from kicking him as they pass. “They had a hyperbolic--”

“Holy hand grenade of suckitude.”

Cas glances over at Dean as they keep moving, “How long before you came up with that one?”

Dean grins, not quite reaching his eyes, “In the third truck. Sam didn’t think it was funny either.”

Cas nods, “The one the guard used.... I don’t think it’s the one from the fight with Lucifer.  It felt...different.”

Dean’s silent for a moment as they reach the far end of the corridor, past the staircase he and Eliot had used. “Do we need to go find it? Or… ?”

Cas shrugs before leaning against the wall by the elevator. Parker just popped up the stairs to the lower level, Eliot and Sam won’t be far behind. “I… I worry about what they can do with an angel’s grace if they managed to trap it. But it…” He trails off, shaking his head. This isn’t the place for this discussion. He shrugs again. “I don’t want it, we can let it go. They can’t do much with just the grace anyway.”

“But it’s your grace. You need it, Cas. You shouldn’t…”

“Dean.” Cas cuts him off as the others enter earshot. “ _I don’t care_. Getting you out is more important.”

Dean still looks wary, his forehead creased with concern but Cas is done with splitting himself between Heaven and Humanity. His grace may be lost forever, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. He knows enough now, he can manage on his own if he needs to, if Dean kicks him out again. He doesn’t think he needs to worry about that, but he can be prepared this time.

The elevator doors slide open smoothly behind him as soon as Parker is within about five feet. Parker is near skipping, holding a badge from one of the guards up like a talisman, Eliot following, Sam slumped over his shoulder, wincing at every step.

Cas drags Dean backwards into the elevator, clearing the way for Sam and Eliot. Parker waves cheerfully at the camera in the corner, chirping “Hi, Hardison” as the doors slide closed and they start moving.

Eliot meets Dean’s eyes from under Sam’s slump. “Dean, you need to take Sam. Getting out is always the hardest part.”

Dean nods, his eyes hardening. “Gotcha. Pass him over.”

Cas steps in front of Parker as the elevator rises. If there’s going to be an ambush, it will be at ground level, where they get off.

There is.

Four guards spill into the elevator as soon as the doors slide open. Another five wait outside, covering the exterior door and acting as backup. 

There’s no time for thought. Cas darts forward, ignoring the four in the elevator in favor of clearing their path to the outside.

He’s slower without his grace, can’t push himself quite as far. But the assholes who face him will never notice the difference. Sam and Eliot’s rules have no place here, not when their opponents have guns.

He’s among them. Slashing and stabbing, moving in a whirlwind. He focuses on the guards with their guns out first, taking them down in seconds.

Cas slices one guard’s throat, stabs another in the side. There’s several grunts behind him, the snap-buzz of a taser.

He had no idea what this facility thought they were going be facing, but whoever provided the guard’s training was wrong.

Another slash across a wrist, drop the gun. A blow to the temple, drop the guard.

A couple of quick breaths while his mind runs his options.

These guards can’t even keep up with human opponents, let alone anything dangerous. They rely on their bulk to make up for the fact that they’re just slow, put enough power behind a blade or a punch and they’re just as vulnerable as everyone else.

A punch to the ribs catches him off guard. A figure darts for the door from that side, Cas trips them, drops down to make sure they’re out cold.

Eliot and Parker must have taken care of the guys in the elevator. Dean and Sam too.

Bullies. All of them. But they’re taken care of.

Cas breathes heavily and counts. Hardison’s duty roster showed fifteen people on duty. Nine here, three in the corridors. They’re missing three…

Eliot’s come to the same conclusion. “My count is short three guys.”

“They were in the offices, already took care of ‘em. We should be clear,” Parker says. She and Eliot both pause, waiting for Hardison to confirm their counts.

After a moment, Eliot nods and changes his posture. “We’re on our way out. Hardison, you got any toys left in there, pull ‘em.”

* * *

 

As soon as the indicator for the elevator flashes blue, ground level and locked, Hardison starts his exit. This has all gone much quicker than he expected, but they’ve still been here long enough for someone to notice. He intercepted every known alarm, but there’s always a risk.

He leaves a backdoor behind to send him occasional updates from the drives he’s copied, but he’s done here. Anything else they need to fully shut down this place can wait until they’re long gone. With a touch of a button, he detonates all the repeater stations Parker had set up. Ever since that job with Nana, he’s been a lot more careful about clearing all of their mess, not just the online stuff.

Hardison is, after all, very good at his job.

He pauses when he hears the fight over the comms, but there’s nothing he can do from here. Hardison had bought them as much time as he could, redirecting alarms to every other part of the complex, even when he couldn’t see them on the cameras. Eliot and Parker can handle themselves, and from the videos he’s seen, both the Winchesters and Cas are deadly by themselves, let alone as a group with someone as amazing as Eliot at their side.

And maybe if he keeps telling himself that his partners will be fine, he’ll believe it. It hasn’t worked yet, after years of trying, but one day.

Hardison meets up with them during the dash to the opening in the fence. There’s no time for anything other than hurried introductions at the fence, not even a ‘thank you for saving my life.’ Up close, Hardison doesn’t think the Winchesters look nearly scary enough to have done everything they’re supposed to have done.

Sam is upright and moving under his own power, but with the sort of concentration that makes Hardison think that’s a pretty recent development, especially considering how Dean pings back and forth between Sam and Cas. Dean doesn’t look that good either under sodium lights, pale and too thin, stumbling over nothing occasionally.

It’s a long hike back to the jeep, up a dry creek bed and over a ridge. The perils of a rush job: no one even thought about whether or not the Winchesters could manage that hike. They do, and in better shape than Hardison himself, but it’s a near thing. Sam reaches for handholds that aren’t there and Dean seems physically fine… but also like he’s having trouble processing. They’re going to be a mess to sort out as the drugs leave their system, getting worse as they get readjusted to society before they get better. Hopefully, they’ve got some sort of home base, he doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen if they try to ride this out in a hotel room. Like hell he’s going to let them ride it out in one of their safehouses.

Hardison grips his bag a little tighter with it’s flash drives full of data as they finally reach the jeep. The only good part about this whole thing is he has a new long term project and job to do. He’s not entirely certain how they’re going to shut this place down, or even what he’ll find, but this is stopping. No one, regardless of what they’ve done, deserves to be shoved in a windowless, airless hole and drugged out of their skulls.

* * *

 

Getting back to town is a pain in the ass. It takes longer than Eliot thinks it should to load everyone into the jeep, get them settled down and tucked inside. For a long while, Dean and Sam stand outside the car, leaning against it while looking up. There’s a storm moving in, the sky clouding over, but it doesn’t seem to matter. They simply want to look up, enjoy the free air.

Eliot’s done the same thing a few times after breaking himself out of jails and prisons. Once, after he’d been laid up for weeks with a gunshot wound and broken leg, when he’d been hiding near the Chinese border. He doesn’t want to break it up, but he has to. They’re still in danger. “C’mon, you two. We need to move.”

It takes a moment for them to get situated, ducking into the car. Sam takes the passenger seat, braced against the dashboard and squished, while Dean opens the door to the backseat.

Slowly, Dean meets his eyes, looking between Eliot, Cas, and the backseat. “We really going to shove four guys in the backseat of this thing?”

“What? Oh hell, no.” Hardison stalks over from where he had been doing something with his phone. “I’m sitting my ass down in the back. Where I have leg room. And space to do my thing.”

“Yeah, whatever, Hardison. Get in the damn jeep.” Eliot rolls his eyes as Hardison rearranges the bags in the trunk. The sad thing is, he probably will have the most comfortable seat. They’d gone for the ability to go off-road instead of people capacity when choosing the thing and now they’re paying for it. “Dean, just pick a spot. We can rearrange when we’re _not here_.”

Dean looks at him for a moment, but there’s not enough light to see what he’s thinking. “Me in the middle ok?” And it’s so quiet, so unlike the brash kid that Eliot knew and partnered with that it throws him off.

“Sure, fine. Let’s _go_.”

They’re back on the highway, having survived Parker’s manic off-road driving, before it dawns on him that what Dean’s done is put himself between Eliot and his family, as if he’s afraid Eliot is a threat. There’s no way for him to reach Cas or Sam without Dean being in the way, able to control the situation, even in a small space. He watches Dean’s hands clench and unclench for hours, the entire drive back into Reno.

That hurts, far more than Eliot thinks it should. It’s not a surprise that Dean thinks he’s dangerous. He is and they all know it. It's more that he’s not trusted to rein it in that hurts.

They abandon the jeep in a shopping center parking lot across town from the airport, leave the keys and title in it. If someone wants to help themselves to it, they're welcome. A stolen car found in a chopshop won’t leave a trail to Houston. The government is still out there after all, and the Men of Letters, and god knows who all else.

Getting to the airport is a nightmare. Nearly two hours on various busses to make it across town, a couple of stops for them all to get cleaned up and the Winchesters out of prison gray. It’s not until they’re walking into the airport that Eliot realizes that Dean and Cas are hanging back.

On one hand, it’s good to see that Dean’s relaxed a bit since they got out of the car. Sam’s chatting with Parker about the feasibility of… something, and Dean’s just letting it happen. On the other hand, Dean’s going to start drawing attention to them if he doesn’t relax. It’s way too early for this bullshit.

Hardison notices too, of course. “What’s his problem?”

“Dean hates flying. I was hoping we would just walk right on by that, but apparently not.” Hardison just looks at him. “What? It’s been years since I tried to get him on a plane. Something could have changed.”

“Eliot, are we about to get on a plane with a nervous terrorism suspect?”

He looks back at Dean, where he’s doing his best to stay calm but is radiating anxiety, and sighs. “No. We’ll keep Sam with us, two couples is less noticeable. Go on and catch up, do whatever you need to do. Distract Sam. I’ll deal with them.” Eliot hands Hardison his bag and jogs back to Dean and Cas.

“Hey, dude.”

The thing is, Dean probably thinks he’s covering pretty well. He’s got one hand intertwined with Cas and the other gripping a cheap backpack, and standing, it’s impossible to tell if his knee is twitching.

“Man, if you don’t loosen up, you’re going to break Cas’s hand.” Eliot takes a step back, “Change of plan. You two are going to meet us in four days. You’re just here to see your friends off, and then you’re going to leave.”

It’s impossible to miss the relief in Dean’s eyes or the way his hand relaxes in Cas’s before tensing back up. “What about Sam?”

Eliot glances back, where Parker has maneuvered all three of them into an out of the way spot, “We’ll keep him with us. No one looks twice at couples on flights. We’ll scatter and then meet back up.”

“Eliot…”

“Dean, you can’t fly like this. I wasn’t sure it was gonna work anyway, it only takes one asshole with a memory for faces to blow this whole thing. You and Sam are pretty fucking noticeable.”

Dean sighs and nods. “You’re right, you know. It really has been a miracle that we’ve only gotten arrested, like, four times.” Swallowing, he looks at Cas, waiting for something. “Alright. Four days at wherever Cas met you guys.”

Eliot nods in turn before turning his back on Dean. Great. Now he just has to explain the change to Sam.

They’re always more cautious flying home than they are flying to a job. Splitting up and merging in two or three airports, names changing on tickets for every leg… it’s exhausting, and that’s on top of not nearly enough sleep over the past couple of days.

Sam’s the one who carefully wakes him up when they finally get to Houston. “Eliot, it’s time. C’mon.” He’s visibly dragging, even though he’s been careful not to admit it.

“Alright, give me a second.” Eliot yawns and stretches, automatically taking note of anyone who glances away. “Any problems?”

“Nope. Near as I can tell, we’re okay.”

Nodding, he settles back down, watching as the horizon changes, the plane changing pitch as the pilot starts the descent. “Awesome.”

A couple hours after that, Eliot’s finally home, in his own kitchen, chopping up toppings for tacos. Sam tried to help, but after he completely butchered a tomato, Eliot sent him out to play geek with Alec and Parker. The kid isn’t all the way back to normal yet, although Eliot’s pretty sure he wouldn’t notice if he didn’t know what Dean’s freakouts looked like.

Winchesters. So caught up in their own world they fail to slow down and unwind.

* * *

 

Dean is pretty sure, when he finally pulls up to the brewpub three days later, that Eliot’s going to punch him for not taking the full four days. It’s not like he and Cas hadn’t tried either, meandering their way through the desert, turning it into a mini-vacation. But he’s also spent a lot of his life driving from one kitschy tourist trap to another and there’s a limit to the charms of seeing Winslow again.

So they show up early, after three days and six car changes.

The brewpub, when they arrive, is in the middle of the dinner rush, a couple dozen people in the dining room and clustered around the bar. Dean’s fully prepared to wait for Eliot’s team to notice them, maybe eat dinner in the meantime, when Sam bustles in from the back carrying a dish tub. He grins at them, jerks his head towards the back, and starts making small talk with a couple of the waitresses while he clears a table.

Taking advantage of the distraction Sam provides, Dean and Cas slip behind him and through the doors. Cas takes the lead through the kitchen, bypassing it completely and heading to the office in the back. Sam follows them a second later, depositing the tub by the dishwasher and continuing on into the office.

Once they’re in back, out of the public eye, Dean allows himself to relax a bit. “Sammy. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m ready to go home.” Sam pulls him into a hug, holding on too tightly and for too long. He’s not doing as well as he says he is.

But that’s alright. Because Dean’s ready to go home, too, wants to reclaim their lives before working how exactly they’re going to deal with the Men of Letters and the US government.

Laughing, Hardison comes down the stairs to drag them back up. “Come upstairs. I think Sam and I worked out how to solve all sorts of your problems. And oh, by the way, I went ahead and deleted most of those charges for you. You’re still dead but…” He continues to rattle on.

Dean meets Cas’s eyes and smiles, sending up one last prayer as they follow the hacker up the stairs. _“Love you, angel.”_

 

 

 


End file.
